


Sherlock's return

by Mycroffed



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, John's suicide, M/M, Part 1 is on fanfic.net, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock's return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:28:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycroffed/pseuds/Mycroffed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three years, Sherlock finally returns from his mission to end Moriarty's network, only to discover that John has been dead for quite a while.<br/>John's perspective can be found on fanfic.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's return

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Good Bye John](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/62571) by Curly Stone Heart. 



> This just happened. A huge thanks to Estelle for letting me write part 2 of her ff AND for reading through everything afterwards.  
> Don't hesitate to leave any comments, telling me what you think c:  
> X

Sherlock was in trouble. It has been three years since he jumped off that building with John looking at him, trying to stop him. Now he was captured, being tortured when he was trying to cover up Moriarty's network. He tried to forget the pain by losing himself in his mind palace.

He first entered John's room. It was a bit dusty and there was not much new information, especially not since he had lost all contact with Mycroft. He never contacted Sherlock’s brother himself and it had been almost two years since he had received a call from the man for the last time.  
He whispered something in Serbian.  
There followed an argument with the guard and he ran off, convinced he could catch his wife having sex with their neighbour.  
The other guard in the corner said something. He got up and walked to Sherlock.

'Listen very carefully, Sherlock. There's an underground network planning an attack on London. It's about time you returned.'

Sherlock grinned at the sound of the voice of Mycroft.  
After that, time went rather fast. Before he knew, Sherlock found himself in London again, in Mycroft's office, while a barber was cutting his hair and shaving his beard.  
After a small discussion about that had got him out, Sherlock's mind returned to John. His friend would be so pleased to see him again. Maybe he should jump out of a cake to surprise him. Or he should just return to 221B Baker Street at night and wake up next to John.  
Sherlock had soon after his 'death' realised John was more to him than his best friend. Even though Sherlock did not do 'love', he felt something remarkably like it growing in his heart when he thought of John.

'What about John?' Sherlock asked his brother, knowing he'd have kept an eye on the man for him.  
'What do you mean?' Mycroft was confused. 'Don't you know?'  
'Don't act like you're stupid, Mycroft, it doesn't suit you. John. John Watson. My only and best friend? Where is he now?'  
'Sherlock...'  
'Don't act like you haven't been keeping an eye on him, I know you have.'  
'Sherlock, he's dead.'  
Sherlock was dumbstruck.  
'He committed suicide five months and twenty-three days after you jumped off Bart's.'  
'No... He can't have... I mean... He is John Watson! He survived Afghanistan!'  
'He left a note.' Mycroft handed him a piece of paper.

It was clearly the Doctor's handwriting. There were only five words on it, but they cut through Sherlock's soul like nothing ever had in his entire life.

_I'm coming to you, Sherlock._

Sherlock handed the paper back to Mycroft, who tucked it away in a big file called 'John Watson'.  
He was trying not to cry. It was an experience he had not yet encountered.  
'John,' he mumbled. 'John, oh John. What have you done?'  
'We found him in his bathtub, a knife next to him and large wounds on his wrists. He bled to death.'  
'But...' Sherlock had to think about his words, there was a mist in his head that clouded his thinking. 'It's not like him.'  
'He was a broken man, Sherlock. Your death broke him. You broke him.'  
'No... No!' Sherlock screamed. 'It's not my fault! His death is not my fault!' He ran out of Mycroft's office, straight to 221B Baker Street.

When he arrived there, he entered the house immediately and went to the bathroom, hoping John might still be there. But no, the tub was empty. The only trace that a man had committed suicide here was the small traces of blood on the soap. Mrs Hudson had not been able to bring herself to throwing anything the two men owned away.  
Sherlock crashed in that bathroom, letting his tears flow down his cheeks, no longer having the strength to keep them at distance.  
Mrs Hudson, who had heard Sherlock entering, came upstairs, looking for the intruder, armed with a frying pan. When she noticed the detective sitting in the bathroom, she cried. She hushered over to his side and hugged the poor man, crying for his lost love.

Sherlock let her hug him. He didn't care anymore. The world was not interesting without John Watson in it. He lost track of time and he had no idea how long he had been sitting there with Mrs Hudson's arms around him when Lestrade entered the room.  
'You called to report a break. I...' His sentence broke off when he noticed whom it was 'Sherlock? Is that you?'  
Sherlock looked up at the man he had once called his friend. He had aged. His hair had become much greyer, with some streaks of white in there and the wrinkles in his face had become more distinct. He had a beard grow of a couple of days.  
Lestrade came to him and as soon as Mrs. Hudson let go of him, he slapped him in the face.  
'How dare you!' He roared. 'Do you know what you did to John? You broke him, Sherlock! You destroyed him completely! You were the reason he killed himself! Have you any idea how I felt when I was investigating his death? No, because you were probably too busy enjoying yourself somewhere abroad!'  
Sherlock let him shout. There was nothing in his words that was not true. John's death was his fault and he would have returned much sooner if he had realised the state John had been in.  
'Do you have to say anything in your defence, Sherlock?' Lestrade had gotten annoyed with Sherlock's silence.  
Sherlock only managed to shake his head. The tears were still coming, like someone had saved all the tears a human could ever cry in his life and let them all out at once.  
As soon as Lestrade noticed the tears, he calmed down a bit. 'Why did you even do it, Sherlock?'  
'I did it to protect all of you. I could not stand him hurting any of you,' Sherlock sobbed.  
'But why didn't you protect John after you were gone?'  
'He was the strongest man I've ever known. I thought he'd pull through. I was wrong, I was so, so wrong.' The detective hit himself a couple of time on the head before Lestrade could stop him.  
'Did you know you saved him the first time? He was about to commit suicide when you met him. You saved him.'  
'And I condemned him. It's my fault, it's all my fault!' Sherlock was being consumed by guilt.  
The eldest man put his arms around the detective and started to rock him like a little kid.  
Once again, Sherlock lost track of time in Lestrade's arms.

When the sobs became less frequent and less violent, Lestrade let go of the detective again, only to find him sleeping. He lifted him and carried him to his old room. There, Lestrade tucked him in and looked at him with an unexpected fondness. He was actually glad his old friend was back, even though he had not showed it at first.  
When Lestrade left the room, Sherlock immediately sat up again. He had not been sleeping, only pretending. He had decided to go after John, to go meet him again in the afterlife. He did not believe in any form of afterlife, but John obviously had and Sherlock was prepared to believe anything that could mean he'd see his lot friend again.

He found a knife and installed himself in the same bathtub as John had been. Sherlock filled it with hot water, but he did not allow himself to get comfortable. As soon as the bath had been filled, he took the knife and placed it on his wrists.  
 _Love_.  
John's voice distracted him from cutting.  
 _Please love, don't do it._  
Sherlock looked around the bathroom, looking for his John. He was standing at the end of the bath, and he was looking directly at him. John came closer and took the knife out of Sherlock's hands.  
 _Please, love, for me. Live your life for me._  
'But I don't want to. I just want to be with you!'  
 _I'll always be with you, love._  
Sherlock started crying again. His hand closed around the knife again and he put it on his wrist once again. He could do this, for John. For this pain to end. For love.  
Mrs Hudson, who had heard Sherlock talking, stood in the doorway.  
'No, Sherlock! Don't!' She cried. She took the knife away and placed it in her pocket. She quickly got Sherlock's mobile and called Mycroft.

'Hello, Sherlock.'  
'Mycroft.'  
'Ah, Mrs Hudson, what can I do for you?'  
'It's Sherlock. He has tried to commit suicide.'  
'Stay with him. I'm there in five minutes.'

Sherlock was still staring at the John who was standing next to him now.  
 _It's for your own good, love._  
Sherlock got out of the tub and stood, completely naked and dripping with water, in front of John. And then he hugged him. John felt real. He was warm and his clothes actually scraped against his skin. 'I can't live without you, John.'  
'Who are you talking to, Sherlock? There's no-one here.' The landlady tried to catch his attention.  
'Oh, shut up Mrs Hudson,' Sherlock growled. He left the bathroom and climbed the stairs to John's room. The doctor followed him, worrying about what Sherlock could do.  
Sherlock opened the window and climbed out on the roof. He'd jump. He'd done it before. The falling wasn't too bad; it was the landing that would be more painful.  
‘But nothing could be more painful than the guilt I'm feeling right now’ Sherlock thought.  
Mycroft had arrived. He was standing in front of 221B Baker Street, waiting to be let into the house.  
John had followed Sherlock onto the roof. He was standing next to the detective and looked at him, judging if Sherlock was finally going to do it or not.

Sherlock smiled at him. He held out his hand to the Doctor.  
'Together?' he asked.  
 _Together_.  
And the two men jumped.


End file.
